Ice Angels
by Tzitzimime
Summary: "You're going to run out of thread one day," It felt as if his words were charcoal; thick and bitter in his mouth. "There'll be nothing to sew me back together." (A little EstoLat oneshot fluffy thing to apologise for being inactive for a while, I'm sorry guys .n. Sidefic from my Tin Man fic)


_Aaaah I'm so so sorry I haven't updated any of the multi-chap fics for ages- I stopped for a couple of days to take a break, then it turned to weeks, and then a whole month lol I'm sorry I'm a butt .n._

_Sorry this is super cheesy as well I need some fanfic nonsense to make it all better :)_

_So if you don't read my Tin Man fic, how dare you not XD, you'll probably have no idea what this AU is about or whatever- if I explain it it'll just sound super lame so I'll promote my other fic by saying yeah go read it now!_

_I might do other oneshots like this because I love EstoLat and I love this AU and ahfjksfohjcsx I hope you like it too_

_Please enjoy my measly excuse for not updating, I know I'm a despicable human being. _

_-Tzitzimime _

Raivis hated the snow.

It looked so delicate as it fell from the sky; swirling, spiralling, twisting down to the ground, each one just a tiny fragment of, say, a snowdrift, packing together to form the most beautiful of ice sculptures, settling in the clothes and hair of the other men. Watching it fall and glide like the eagles of the mountains sent his fragile self into a state of overwhelming calm, and he could, if he was allowed, remain with his eyes fixed to the heavens for hours on end watching the tiny white angels fall to the ground layer upon layer. If he paused enough from his work to reach his hands out and interrupt the sailing path of the flakes, they would rest in his palms, momentarily as crystalline and perfect as they had been when they left the clouds, then crumble and dissipate into little droplets which would freeze again if he didn't brush his hands together quickly enough. One of the inmates, a long-dead friend who had met his end at the icy hands of a winter storm, had told him that no one flake was the same as its neighbour, and that that neighbour's neighbours were completely different to it as well. Though he was sure this couldn't be true, as whoever made the snow would soon run out of ideas concerning the shape of a miniscule fleck of frozen water, but it was nice to think that they were as equally different as all the men in the camp, just a little cleaner.

But beauty is a cruel mistress indeed.

The ice angels, pure in their beauty and almost soft looking as they made their final flight down to rest with their fallen companions, had a sharp bite. Leaving ones hands out amidst this flock would prove painful to say the least. Standing out bare to this onslaught was not advised by any sane man, and neither was going outside in the first place. Though he adored the way the shapes twisted and fell through the sky, he was in no way naïve enough to assume they felt the same on crude human skin. Whatever being had created snow, if it was to be seen as a creation of the divine, they had created it to punish the faults of man. As one reached their hands out to catch the falling masterpieces, the fragile human fingers that so inquisitively yearn for warmth were met with harsh raps on the knuckles, the icy touch of the snow driving the receiver from admiration to submission. As the wind laughs at those who fly their kites in midwinter, the blizzard mocks those who perceive beauty in the shallowest of forms, and those who believe an angel's holiness is written purely on her face. This, to those who were familiar to the pain this winter beauty brought to the mind as well as the body, was entirely false. He knew, that even in the darkest recesses of the earth, there would be a light which wrapped every fragile man in a shroud of warmth and—

A tap on his shoulder sent his mind spiralling back into the present, and the tiny pencil clamped in his fist clattering off the side of the bunk. The candle beside him, however, remained untouched, and no other sound was made which could possibly wake the sleeping inmates around them.

Twisting around with wide and somewhat fearful eyes, Raivis prepared for the worst. If it was just an inquisitive inmate who wanted to know what he was scribbling about, he would be more than able to stuff the papers under his pillow and mumble something about a diary, but if it was a man a little higher up in the pecking order, even the milder-mannered Ivan, he would have to blubber out the truth, and that would be the end of his tear-free morning. He had spent most of the day forcing himself not to break down in tears over minor matters such as the fact his oatmeal had had distressing black bits in it, and that the Warden had kicked him very hard in the shin and no-one else had noticed, but also over more pressing issues such as his constant and insatiable hunger, and the matter of his imprisonment. Crying on a daily basis about how he was probably going to die of pneumonia before the winter was over was a usual practise for Raivis, so today he was wholly impressed with himself for keeping it together for so long.

With apologies ready to spill forth if he was indeed caught scribbling by a superior inmate, he turned around properly, legs still crossed and papers crushed in his fist, he lifted his eyes to those of the man who had tapped him on the shoulder.

He forgot about apologising for anything as soon as he saw who it was.

The only man he never felt scared around settled himself next to Raivis on his bunk just as the Latvian was stuffing the papers under his pillow and assuming a nonchalant air.

With a flick of his clever eyes at the pillow and a nudge to Raivis' side, Eduard placed a query he would have dreaded answering if it had come from anyone but him.

"That's a good couple of pages you've got written down now," He always spoke quietly when they greeted each other so not to startle him. Eduard looked up at Raivis, his smile just parting his lips. "Can I read?"

Feeling his cheeks flush with heat, he ducked his head shyly, pulling at stray threads on his sleeves. "It's not done," He mumbled.

Raivis wrote. He wrote and wrote and stopped to cry then wrote some more. When Eduard had uncovered this secret pastime Raivis had been using a scrap of charcoal to compose his scribbles, but as his friend often did, Eduard provided him with all the pencils and paper he needed. He didn't know where Eduard received his supplies or even who from, but a happy man does not question why he is happy, as questioning brings forth overthinking and other such miseries. Raivis was not the only boy to escape the cold in this manner, and was certainly not the worst in terms of the literary material he produced, but it was still frowned upon by most of the men. General thinking in the camp was that if you couldn't hit someone with it, it didn't deserve to be held in the hand or used as an implement for any activity. Few who dared to object had interjected with the notion that a spoon was a useful implement yet was not a decent weapon, but soon realised the inmates who claimed that pencils weren't weapons could easily make use of cutlery as projectiles to enforce their argument. This made Raivis laugh, but only when none of the threats were anywhere near him. Getting a spoon in the eye for having an opinion was almost as funny as the reason the spoon was thrown in the first place. If he had been as bold as Eduard, he would have thought the men as stupid. Plenty a sharp sword had been crafted with a pen, and dozens of paper bullets had fired shots into selected targets. The wounds were just less visible, that was all.

Eduard still had his head inclined to him, and Raivis shuffled to face him properly, his bootless feet tucked to one side as he lowered his head. He had never been good at maintaining eye contact with anyone, even outside the camp, especially with Eduard. Looking into his sharp, calculating eyes was worse than talking back to the Warden, and he would feel his stomach roil and writhe even before he lifted those slate-green eyes to his own.

"Can I read it when it's done?" Eduard quietly took another pencil from his front pocket and tucked it into the rip in his mattress where he kept his stationery, spare rags and odds and ends Eduard had given him, their fingers touching for a second as the Estonian brushed his hand affectionately.

Raivis shook his head frantically, making Eduard give a quiet chuckle. "Absolutely not."

He took a chance and glanced up to see if Eduard had stopped looked at him, but immediately averted his eyes as he was met with an amused expression. It was a wonder he knew where anyone was, he could never bear to look at any of them for longer than a fraction of a second for fear of being hit, or worse. At least it was only Eduard this time, so his nerves wouldn't be jarred by an inquisitive Tino or a worrying Toris. His other friends were a little less playful when it came to the subject of his writing. Eduard would never press him for answers unless it was a serious problem which impacted upon Raivis' wellbeing, so they would often play these little word games to see if Eduard could weasel any tiny bit of information out of him before they had to go off and work again. However, the day that had long not passed into night had been Sunday and they didn't have to work, Eduard and Raivis had been free to lounge about the barracks, pretending to clean or sort things out if any of the superiors looked their way. And anyway, Eduard would always have something clever to say if they did get caught sitting idle. Raivis would just hide behind him and look bashful, but the Estonian stood up to accusations as a fox does to a bear.

The background noises of men shifting and snoring in their beds masked their hushed conversation, and they were often able to sit for hours and talk without being interrupted or overheard. Raivis had always been a quiet boy, so if the atmospheric chatter became to boisterous, Eduard would have to try doubly hard to catch his words.

A hand brushed the top of his head, and he shrank back before he could stop himself. It was only Eduard, he _knew _it was only Eduard, but every time a small touch or movement caught him off guard he would retreat into his shell and peer meekly up at the Estonian, half expecting to be hit. A lifetime of having to develop fast reflexes in order to defend oneself from bullets, shells, boots, etcetera often had an impact on civilian life. Well, if you could call it civilian life. They certainly weren't being shot at anymore, at least on a regular basis, but only so much comfort could be offered by a camp on the brink of the wilderness and governed by ex-convicts themselves.

"Don't look so terrified," Eduard's hand settled in his hair, brushing the hastily-cut strands away from his face. Raivis often had to shear his hair off at the last moment before a parade or so he could actually see, as it grew fast and haphazardly, and a lack of vision would just add to all the other things he didn't have which impeded his survival chances in the camp. "Where's your hat?"

Eduard supplied him with all the clothing he could ever have asked for, thanks to his little businesses he used to wheedle the last valuable items from the other, less financially adept inmates. He gave him hats, coats, two pairs of sturdy but small boots, and as many layers as he needed to stop looking so frozen all the time. Unfortunately, Raivis wasn't very good at keeping the things Eduard gave him safe.

Shrugging slowly as if he was easing off a great pain, he didn't look at Eduard as the man continued to gently tousle his hair. "One of the guards took it again," He mumbled down at his hands, twisting his fingers absent-mindedly, praying that Eduard's face wasn't falling in that masked sort of disappointment he tried so hard not to display for fear of upsetting Raivis.

Despite being a faint boy who had better things to worry about than how his affluent friend was feeling, he often got overly concerned about his emotions and his opinion of Raivis. As often Eduard proved to him that no higher opinion could be held of him if he was an emperor from a far off land, Raivis would often worry in silence about what his one beacon of hope was thinking of him. He never once let this constant questioning reach the surface and therefore condemn his thoughts to betrayal by his mouth, but they were omnipresent little devils, lurking there in his mind like thieves in the night.

Instead of appearing to show any emotion other than languid cheeriness, Eduard just laughed quietly and slid his hand from the top of his head to the back of his neck, tousling the uneven strands of hair there.

"If the guards keep taking it from you, I might have to sew it onto your head," The candlelight was a flickering, dim friend, but it provided enough light for Raivis to see the intensity in which Eduard looked at him. His words were mere jests, yes, but his eyes never engaged in the same level of deception as his tongue. The eyes that looked back into Raivis' were honest and true, and even though his cheeks coloured and he was practically wringing his hands in his lap, he could not look away. Eduard laughed again. "Then it would never get lost."

Raivis finally drew his eyes away from Eduard, and laughed a little under his breath. Tino had once told him that he laughed so rarely and so quietly that most men mistook it for a coughing fit, so he had grown to manage some degree of unnecessary caution when expressing his emotions. He was only fifteen, an age where most boys would have been helping with the harvests, and his emotional strength was wavering as it was. Unneeded comments from other men trying to be funny were no great help when being forced to grow up in a terribly short amount of time.

"What if I lose my head?" He mumbled quietly, knowing that his words were in no way as humorous or deft as his companion's, but it was a start. "Then you'd have a problem."

Eduard laughed, as loud as he dared in a room of volatile and sleeping men, and placed his hands at Raivis' temples. "Well then, we will have to take great care of it to ensure that never happens." Raivis heard him shift on the bunk, then felt Eduard press his lips to his forehead and stay there for a number of seconds, before he pulled back and surveyed his red-faced friend.

Being used to something often means the next time such a familiar event occurs can be a surprise, and it was always the same for Raivis. Though Eduard's displays of affection were frequent, albeit innocently brief, the following one would always catch Raivis off guard. The older boy had an odd way of showing his affections at the strangest of times, at the times when he weighed heaviest on Raivis' mind. Right now, Raivis was struggling once more with the task of discerning what on earth Eduard was thinking of him at that precise moment, and it was pressing against his mind so much the words were springing to his mouth quicker than he was shooing them away. He had been dreading the moment when those words would take flight, and he would be helpless to procure an excuse, but as Eduard's lips had so carefully brushed against his forehead like he was a china doll, those thoughts had been all but whisked away.

Despite his selective use of speech and his hand at poetry, Raivis was often cruel when it came to reality. "You can't keep sewing it back on forever, you know." He said quietly, almost fearfully, but he wanted to be as honest to his friend as he possibly could. There was nothing worse than lying to Eduard.

Something, some emotion Raivis was too slow to read, flickered across Eduard's face, but he soon masked it with the same soft smile he had been wearing before.

"Raivis," He said, words clear, but taut with emotion. "Is that what you really think?"

Feeling meek, but compelled to answer for the sake of Eduard, he nodded. "You're going to run out of thread one day," It felt as if his words were charcoal; thick and bitter in his mouth. "There'll be nothing to sew me back together." His nails dug at the palms of his hands, and his head lowered in shame of his own words.

Slim but strong fingers wrapped around his wrists and forced his hands gently apart, bringing them to rest in Eduard's lap. As calloused thumbs stroked the backs of his hands, Raivis felt his throat constrict and his eyes perform that awful scalding torture which always came when he tried to hold in his tears.

"I'll stitch you up with my own dead body if I have to," Eduard murmured, holding his hands in a grip that was neither insistently tight nor flippantly loose. His hands were warm, and they sent little shivers up his arms as his fingers grew accustomed to a temperature that was not deemed a corpses' domain, and rather one of living flesh. Eduard always felt alive, more alive than he felt. "You're not going anywhere if I'm not allowed to come with you."

"You're strong," His words were steadily growing thicker and more muffled as he bit the inside of his mouth, and as his eyes swam with tears he willed to remain unshed. "And clever."

He laughed at that, but it was a dry sound, and more leached of life than frost-cracked bones. "Even the slyest of the serpents meets his end at the cold hands of his master."

"His master?" Eduard's poetry was more confusing than his own. "What master?"

"The master, Raivis, is the one you have owed debt to all your life," Raivis moved to speak, but the older boy stopped him by placing a finger against his lips. "You eat his food, kill his children, traipse across his land like you own it," He laughed again. "Get locked up in his prisons. One day, when he feels you have taken all that you are worth from the land, the air, the water, he appears to you and takes the article you have owed him since your birth."

"I had barely enough to eat when I was born; surely there is nothing I owe this… master." Raivis was thoroughly confused by this point, but Eduard only gave people answers when they played his games.

"This article is immaterial, no meal or treasure of gold, but is more valuable than either of those things. The rich waste it, the poor wish they'd never been given it, and those who lack hope seek the means to be rid of it." Eduard's eyes burned into his own, his words weaving nets around Raivis as one may do about a helpless fish.

He paused to think, biting his lip, but could think of no answers that fit the riddle. Eduard often posed to him such cryptic questions as they worked, and he would always get them horrendously wrong, but it would help pass the time nonetheless.

"Love?" He asked, but was met with a shaking head and a wide grin.

"I didn't mean _that _immaterial, it still maintains some form of existence." Eduard leaned in a little closer, their noses touching for a brief moment.

"What is it then?" Raivis asked sheepishly. "That was my best answer."

Before he knew what had happened, Eduard had slid his hands to rest on his upper arms and pressed his mouth gently to his own. His eyes widened, caught by surprise as always, but his body stayed true for once, and he kissed Eduard back for a moment or two before the Estonian pulled away. The swiftness of his actions always disappointed him, part of him wished fervently that Eduard would take it upon himself to continue, but them again he had always been overly cautious about how Raivis may perceive his actions. Raivis knew Eduard was trying hard to preserve his position in the middle of the seesaw; act too insistently and he may come across as lecherous and needy as the rest of the men, grow too restrained and he would be judged an indifferent bastard. Though Raivis minded not how much attention he was dealt, as long as Eduard remained with him, he knew it meant a great deal to Eduard and his reputation, and he tried his best to assist him with this whenever he could. Besides this, he wished for more than fleeting gestures of comfort, but didn't dare to voice his need for fear of it bothering Eduard.

Warm breath ghosted over his cheeks, causing his eyes to flutter shut while another sweet kiss was pressed between his brows.

"Your life," Eduard's voice was a soft whisper. "And as much as the master of our lives wishes it for himself, I think he can hold out a little longer," His arms moved forwards, around Raivis' waist, and slipped through his clothes to rest on his back, covered only by his thin undershirt. "Come, sleep, before it gets too cold."

"Before death comes to get me, you mean." Raivis lay down, not caring if he was facing the right way or not as he couldn't feel the pillow beneath his head, feeling Eduard lie beside him. The Estonian would always very gently wrap his arms around him before he went to sleep, but those arms were safely by his sides when morning came. It was almost as if, Raivis thought, Eduard was afraid of breaking him in his sleep. He wished he could convey his dismay at the fact their contact was limited to that which Eduard knew wouldn't harm Raivis in the slightest of manners, but he always kept the words below the surface, waiting to reach the paper when he had enough time.

After the general rustlings and creakings that come with two entities settling themselves down for a night of companionable slumber, only Eduard's breathing and the drum of his heart filled the otherwise cold and empty silence.

Eduard's arms tightened around him after he spoke, and his mouth moved so it was right next to his ear, making Raivis shudder, both in warmth and at their closeness.

"I'll fight Mr Death with my bare hands before he gets to lay his cold ones on you." He hissed with a surprising amount of serious, and Raivis curled his knees up and just listened to his breathing, rolling the words over and over in his head. Hearing something so full of conviction about so morbid a matter almost made it easier to believe such words were written down before they were spoken, but Raivis knew Eduard meant everything he said, except when he was talking to a client. All manner of deceptive speech fine-tuned to winkle the smallest of treasures out of the stupidest of men fell away when Eduard spoke to Raivis, he had told him so himself, and it brought great warmth to his heart every time Eduard made it clear just how hard he was prepared to fight for him. Eduard would pry him out of the arms of hyperthermia if it cost him his life and his criminal's business, then would probably fly him up to Heaven himself just to ensure he got a good seat next to some great battle hero of old. If Raivis was to die, sure as Hell he would at some point in the next five miserable years of his sentence; it would mean the end for Eduard. His trinket taking, his cigarette selling, none of it would mean anything if Raivis wasn't with him. It made him worry just what the man would do if Raivis did depart.

This also dredged up another thought. "Eduard, you take all kinds of treasures from the other men to sell them food and cigarettes," Eduard stiffened behind him but Raivis knew he was still listening. "Some of these men are your friends, and you talk them out of their prized possessions for just a few smokes," He rolled over to face his companion. "Why did you never ask for anything from me?"

Eduard shifted around a little, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look down at Raivis. "First of all, I'm not letting you near a cigarette even if the bastards are the cure for death itself. Secondly, there is nothing I can take from you that would compensate for your company," He leaned down and kissed him swiftly. "You can't take the shine from the sun, you can't take the cold from the snow, and you certainly can't take treasure from my Raivis because he _is _the treasure." His tone was light, and he kissed the tip of his nose as he leaned down to hold him against his chest.

"Joker." He muttered, feeling his cheeks colour at the words despite his verbal dismissal of them.

The Estonian laughed under his breath. "That's all I'm good for. And you never did tell me what you were writing about."

"Snow." He muttered into Eduard's collar, curling his legs up again and feeling them bump against another pair of slightly less spindly knees.

"What about snow?"

"That it's cold and wet and makes everyone's lives rubbish." His eyes had already started to close as sleep wrapped its arms around him, but he continued to talk just for talking's sake.

"More or less summarised it in a sentence," Eduard let out a long breath that ended in a sigh, and Raivis felt him rest against him a little more. "If that's all it was about I doubt it is a very long story to tell."

"It's about other stuff too," He protested weakly, too tired to engage in a full game with Eduard. "Not just how horrible snow is."

"Awfully confusing, all this horrible snow and the 'other stuff' you talk about, maybe you should let me read it."

"No way," Raivis' words began to get a little more slurred, and he leaned against Eduard and closed his eyes properly. "Just go t' sleep."

"And you should do the same, o mighty poet of the frozen north," Raivis opened his eyes and gave him a sleepy but fed up look at that. "Before morning comes and we have to go outside in the horrible snow."

"'Night," Raivis whispered, reaching out to brush his fingers along Eduard's jaw one last time, before digging into his lapels and holding him close. "And don't let death come and get you while I'm gone."

Eduard smiled. "He won't."

The Latvian's grip on his coat began to lessen as sleep first began to take hold, but tightened once more as soon as the dreams threw their gilded veils over the boy's thoughts. Eduard held him closer, hands still and firm on his back, eyes always fixed on his expressionless face as the breaths steadily left his body and his chest rocked with the tremors of his dreams. He prayed that the somewhat limited health of his youth would preserve him for some time to come, otherwise the boy would have no chance of making it to his twenties. The prospect saddened him greatly, more so than he would have let on to Raivis, even if he asked, but inevitability was best fought with quiet preparation and a stiff upper lip. If the boy was to die tonight, resting in his arms like the child he had never had the chance to be, some tranquil thoughts on his demise would be provided, and Eduard would perhaps be able to greet death from a gentle fall off one of the towers. However, if Raivis was to meet his master at the hands of some other inmate or of the snow he so despised, he swore he would do all and anything that he could to ensure he was well enough avenged or revered to be granted an eternal place in other men's hearts as well as his own.

He sighed again, feeling the burdens of a sharp mind more acutely than ever before. Feeding him, clothing him, shielding him from danger; all blessings rather than a laborious chore, something he could do for eternity if it meant that no further tears would fall, that no further nights would be spent in the infirmary with blood spattering the sink, but to no avail. There were always the sleepless nights spent holding this fragile body until there was nothing left to cry about, the days wasted running up and down the camp looking for a sympathetic inmate willing to provide a fragment of medical knowledge, the ill-matched fights staged in order to protect his one reason for staying sane and alive. Even Eduard, the master and keeper of Raivis' mortal life, his loyal ally and greatest friend, could not cheat the true master. A debt was owed, a measly one perhaps considering the boy's living conditions, but a debt nonetheless.

As the Latvian slept, little hands clutching at his friend's coat as if death was already threatening to rip him away, a thin hand slid under the pillow and the faint rustle of paper was heard.

And the snow angels continued to fall for their sins.


End file.
